Cold Red Snow
by LadyAryaBaratheon
Summary: The war is won, but the dragon prince lies dying, and only a wolf can comfort him now.


**Author's Note:** Hellooo! :) not really sure why I've written this, seeing as I don't think I ship these two, especially as Arya and Gendry are mt OTP :L but I just got this idea, so I figured I'd throw it out there :P Anyways, enoy, and please review!

**Disclaimer: George RR Martin owns everything :)**

The silver prince was dying.

The deafening noise of battle echoed around them, hoarse shouts and wails and agonised cries.

Everything seemed to have slowed for her. It took years to raise her head, turn it until she caught sight of him, lying there in the blood-stained snow. A lifetime for her breath to huff out of her lips. A century to drop the dragonglass sword from her hand and wipe away the blood from a gash on her forehead.

Nymeria sensed her distress, and bounded towards him. She slid down from her direwolf's back, and knelt in the cold, red snow, pulling his head into her lap.

The wight that had pierced his armour with a spear from behind while he sat on dragonback was a charred, blackened lump, not even discernibly human anymore. The monstrous green dragon roared its fury, loosing jets of white-hot flame into the frigid air around them. It stood over them, protectively snarling at the Others that silently prowled towards them, before it bathed them in flame and left them no more than ashes.

"No," She whispered, trying to cover the gaping hole in his chest with her hands, scarlet blood pumping between her fingers regardless.

He looked up at her, the purple Targaryen eyes fading fast. "The little wolf." He smiled, but the inhuman Valyrian beauty was ruined, his teeth red and ghastly, blood spilling down his chin. "Come to see me off?"

"No, you're fine-" Her voice caught, and he tried to reach up to stroke her cheek, but he was too weak, and his hand trembled before falling back to the snow. She took it in her own, the black of his armour contrasting starkly against the white of hers. "You're fine. You'll be fine. I promise."

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep. Your father should've known that." His grip on her hand was tight, so tight. "It might've saved me and Dany some trouble."

Her heart was tearing apart, and her eyes began to sting. _No. Arya Stark does _not_ cry. Not ever._ She bowed her forehead to his, the silvery hair brushing her skin. _Not even now_.

She had lost too many people, her father, her mother, her brother Robb, even Yoren, and her friend Mycah, all those lifetimes ago, before all of her new names and faces. She couldn't lose him _now_, not when they had all but won, not when Winterfell belonged to her family again, not when the Targaryens sat on the Iron Throne, not when the Others were burning.

"You're not supposed to be here," He said, with a sad smile. "You're supposed to be in Winterfell, all safe and snug."

She tried to keep her voice from shaking, but sensed it was a vain attempt. "I couldn't let you have all the glory, now could I?"

"I suppose you're right." His voice faltered, and he coughed, blood spattering his lips. She _was_ crying now, and she raged at herself for it. _He doesn't need you sobbing over him as he dies, he needs help_. But what help was there to be had, in the midst of battle when men were dying screaming at the hands of the wights, while they fought with dragonglass weapons and dragonflame?

"So beautiful." He said, his voice no more than a leaf blowing in the wind. His eyes were up, towards the sky, where two gigantic shapes all but blotted out the cold, white light of the winter sun, and towards the broken Wall, looming high above them, a jagged spike above the uneven, ragged descent of the edge next to where the five mile long stretch had collapsed in on itself when the Others had blown the Horn of Joramun.

Above them, the black beast banked to the left, turning, and they got a glimpse of long silver hair shining in the light. It loosed a jet of flame, scouring a hundred wights with black and scarlet fire in a second.

"They are, aren't they?" Her voice cracked, tears spilling on to the soft skin of his forehead. Nymeria whined, butting her head against her shoulder.

"I'm so cold, Arya. So cold." He whispered, his grip on her hand slackening.

She wanted to badly to shake him, to make him get up, to be all right. But she couldn't, he'd done so much. He deserved to rest.

"I know. I'll get you a fire, I promise." She said, stroking his cheek with her other hand. "We'll get a fire, and a hot bath, and lemon cakes, you've loved them since you first had them with me and Sansa, remember? You'll be warm again, I promise."

"I should like that, I think… I should like that very much." His ragged breathing began to even out, and slow. She squeezed her eyes shut, but her tears leaked out anyway, salty and full of despair.

He was quiet then, so quiet for so long she feared suddenly he'd left her before she'd gotten to say goodbye. Her breath jerked in and out raggedly, misting the frozen air above his face. _So pale_, She thought fearfully.

"I love you, little wolf." He said, suddenly gripping her hand with the last of his strength, tighter than ever before.

Her mouth twisted, a silent sob. "And I love you, Aegon. I do."

"Take care of them." He whispered fiercely. "Dany, and Jon, and Sansa and Rickon and all the rest. Take care of them."

"I will." She said, pressing her lips to his forehead.

"Help them, Arya… Help them heal the realm. Dany, and Jon… Help them rule…" His voice faded, and he swallowed wetly.

"I will." She said, her voice breaking.

"Promise me, Arya…" His eyes drifted shut.

"I promise, Aegon, I promise." She swore, her eyes blurred. His hand was slack in hers, but she gripped it all the tighter. "Just- don't go, please don't go, please Aegon, please-"

A half-smile ghosted over his lips. "We'll see each other again. We will…"

Her throat tight, she kissed his forehead again, and his eyelids, the tip of his nose, his poor bloody lips, gently, so gently.

"Goodbye, little wolf. I love you." He said, his last breaths shallow and quiet.

"I love you, Aegon. I love you." She whispered, unable to bear saying goodbye to him.

"Take me home… To Summerhall…" He whispered.

She smiled heartbrokenly, tears falling to his forehead and sliding down the sides of his temples. "We'll go together."


End file.
